


drive your body into mine like a crash test car

by questionsthemselves



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Alien Biology, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Biting, Bottom Yondu, Breathplay, Consensual Somnophilia, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, F/M, Frottage, Fucked up people, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Somnophilia, Subdrop, Threesome - F/M/M, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fisting, basically guys with innies and barbed dicks y'all, doing fucked up things, dom stakar, just so's your prepared, not at all scientifically accurate, pure fuckin' porn, sort of blood kink?, sub!yondu, top stakar, unnegotiated breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-02-01 13:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12705858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: Yondu’s on a street corner outside a bar, the slow, blinking wash of the neon light flushing his skin a sickly red. On, and off. On, and off. There isn’t any stars to see in the sky, the smog above him coating them thick and swirling, but it’s okay. The street lamps pool light gaudily around anyone close enough to want the light. It’s not silent. it’s never silent in the city, with the rasp of horns and crashing hum of voices rising and falling in rage and wanting and hate. He wouldn’t know what to do with it if it was.“You looking?”Yondu lets his head twist, eyes blinking slow and piercing towards that hot gravel growl of the voice. At first he looks Xandarian - but he’s not. No Xandarian Yondu’s ever met has arcs of fire coming out of their shoulders, or eyes that gleam white and unholy when they catch the light just so. He’s wrapped in cobalt leather, wild flare of steel grey hair flopping onto his forehead, edges silhouetted sharp as a knife by the street lamps behind him.





	1. but we can’t punch ourselves awake

**Author's Note:**

> so this is an outtake that got deleted from another fic, and i decided to throw up here anyways. please heed the tags and warnings, everything is consensual but it's definitely rough, unsafe sex, so please don't read if it's not gonna be good for ya. also could use way more polishing but since i have fifty billion projects it's probably not gonna get another edit so hope y'all enjoy as is <3

Yondu’s on a street corner outside a bar, the slow, blinking wash of the neon light flushing his skin a sickly red. On, and off. On, and off. There isn’t any stars to see in the sky, the smog above him coating them thick and swirling, but it’s okay. The street lamps pool light gaudily around anyone close enough to want the light.  It’s not silent. it’s never silent in the city, with the rasp of horns and crashing hum of voices rising and falling in rage and wanting and hate. He wouldn’t know what to do with it if it was. 

Liquor is mellow in his veins, blurring the world soft enough it doesn’t cut into his skin. He waits, sucks in lungfuls of huffer smoke and blows it out in clouds of no future and no regrets. He's young, and he's alone, and he's free, on a world where no one knows his name. 

There's a ticket in his pocket for ship leaving day after tomorrow. But tonight, he waits, shivering in the night chill. 

“You looking?”

Yondu lets his head twist, eyes blinking slow and piercing towards that hot gravel growl of the voice. At first he looks Xandarian - but he’s not. No Xandarian Yondu’s ever met has arcs of fire coming out of their shoulders, or eyes that gleam white and unholy when they catch the light just so. He’s wrapped in cobalt leather, wild flare of steel grey hair flopping onto his forehead, edges silhouetted sharp as a knife  by the street lamps behind him.  The man's eying up Yondu's bare chest, scarred and studded with glittering rings of gold, the chunk of dull red metal welded to his scalp that's stenciled in geometric electric lines. 

“No permanent damage, no body fluids besides blood, and I gotta cunt.” There’s enough shit in his system his voice doesn’t sound in his ears like it’s really coming from himself. It hangs in the air, lazy and aimless like the smoke blown from his lips, and the man nods.

“So breaking skin's fine.”

Yondu should probably be worried, that that’s the first thing this man thinks of. But then he’s thinking of it too, electric blue lines scored down his arms, sharp metal-studded teeth sinking into his scarred blue skin and he nods back.

“No permanent damage.”

The man’s smirk is greedy and dark as a jet fuel fire, but he tilts his head in agreement and Yondu turns away and walks towards the alley behind him, not looking back.

No light reaches creeping fingers in here to illuminate them. Yondu’s pushed against the wall, skin on his collarbone scraping open against the gritty stone. It stinks, like shit and dying things but none of it really touches him, only the feel of calloused fingertips dragging hot and claiming against bare skin.

Fingers are shoved in his mouth, and Yondu digs a sharp incisor down into them, feels one split, tastes the dry sweet iron of blood on his tongue. He makes pulling sucks at it as jagged points of teeth latch on and dig into the crest of his shoulder, worrying blue-black bruises deep into flesh. He pushes into it, needing the claiming of it so hard it wraps around his chest and clenches down like the clamp of the jaw on his skin

The stone is cold against his front, the man hot and hard against his back. He’s rutting slow and demanding against his ass through their clothes, grabs Yondu’s hands in one of his and pins them together above his head.More fingers are shoved into his mouth and Yondu whimpers out a needy little moan around them, lets the scoop of the man’s arm arch his hips back tighter into him.When the man lets go of his hands to push his trousers down his hips, he doesn’t move them off the wall.

“ _Fuck_ , not wearing anything under this, are ya,” the man pulls teeth out of skin, palming across Yondu, greedy and possessive, “Came out here looking for this, huh, you were looking t’get fucked.”

Yondu nods drunkenly, worries harder at the fingers in his mouth. A hand is reaching around to dip into his slit, flick lightly up along it, over and over until Yondu rasps out a high needy whine and pushes up on his toes, begging wordlessly for more.

“Aw yeah, you're soaked,” the finger traces lower, starts circling around his hole, “a slut for it, ain’t’cha.”

His spine goes liquid, and he begs out, “yeah, _shit_ , do it.”

There’s a harsh chuckle against his head, and teeth bite into the lobe of his ear, latching on and tugging cruelly at his piercings.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna give it to ya.”

There’s clinking of buckles, the rasp of fasteners as the man undoes his trousers, then a rough wet dick is rubbing between his cheeks.

“Gonna be a good boy for me, huh, gonna let me pin y’down and fuck you full,” the man’s kicking Yondu’s legs further apart, “you were thinking about this when you was standing on that corner, just begging for someone t’come by ’n have ya?”

Yondu lets the man’s finger go with a spitty pop before he accidentally bites them any harder, roughs out, “yeah, want your cock, want you splitting me open and making me take it.”

It makes the man growl, low and hungry and then he’s pressing flush to Yondu’s skin, guiding his dick between Yondu’s legs. He’s thick, and there’s something about the feel of him that makes Yondu’s fuck-drunk mind wobbles in confusion, before the man pulls back out slightly, lets the feels of a dozen tiny nub-blunt barbs drag across Yondu’s tender insides.

“You feel ‘em?” the man’s voice is filled with wicked, smug amusement, “gonna fuck you hard, scrape you up good until you’re _screaming_ for me.”

It makes Yondu’s choke out a wail and he pushes back hard, arching until the muscles of his back start to cramp with it. He's needed this, needed it bad and the slow drag of the man's cock inside him rough and teasing makes him sob with how good he feels.

“Such a good fuckin’ boy for me,” fingers are digging into his skin, grazing it open in beautiful bright lines of pain, “gonna come on my dick, get what you was out here for?”

And it normally takes longer, takes more, but that dark husk in his ear, the wound-throb in his shoulder, the slick dripping down between his thighs… he’s not gonna last much longer.

“Yeah, just like that, boy” the man croons against Yondu’s sweat-damp scalp, “Such a sweet fuck, darling, so good for me.”

And that’s it, Yondu’s mouth is falling open and he clenches down, all his muscles locking up everything sings, shooting ecstasy through his veins as those jagged teeth snap harsh and claiming on his spine. Its _hurts_ , it hurts so fucking good and Yondu screams into the deadened air as the man ruts hard once, twice into him and then stills.

 

After, Yondu’s hiccuping out exhausted, satisfied little sobs, brings a hand down to shove it in his mouth but he can’t make himself stop. The man’s still inside him, is soothing his hands up and down, tracing along the low ridges of  Yondu’s ribs . It grounds him, and Yondu clings to it as he yanks the scattered, tattered fragments of himself back into place.

“Felt so good, sweetheart,” the man’s voice husks into his ear, “looked so gorgeous getting fucked outta your pretty mind.”

And Yondu knows what he looks like, knows he’s all scarred-up scowls and huffer stink and grime but when the man talks to him like that, he almost believe him. It aches perfect on his raw nerves, and he wants to freeze this moment here, never let it end.

But it does, and the man’s pulling out of him, dragging his pants back up. Yondu doesn’t turn around, doesn’t want to watch him leave, but then the man says, “Same time tomorrow?” all casual and assuming and Yondu says,”Yes, I– _yes_.”


	2. all I can do is stand on the curb and say Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next night, he’s standing at the curb again, shifting in stretched out leather boots and scowling up at the dull garish blink of the candy-red neon sign. He’s already two-fifths of the way to drunk on whatever sugary bubble pink acidic cocktails he’d been given in the bar, by a smarmy Autocron who’s definitely not getting lucky tonight. No, Yondu’s only still in this junk-rat madness of a city for one thing.

The next night, he’s standing at the curb again, shifting in stretched out leather boots and scowling up at the dull garish blink of the candy-red neon sign. He’s already two-fifths of the way to drunk on whatever sugary bubble pink acidic cocktails he’d been given in the bar, by a smarmy Autocron who’s definitely not getting lucky tonight. No, Yondu’s only still in this junk-rat madness of a city for one thing. 

“Beautiful boy,” The man’s voice is greedy like kudzu vines, and Yondu stiffens, then melts as he feels broad hands tracing along his shoulders, down his arms, like Yondu’s his to touch how he pleases. “Came back, just like you promised.” 

Teeth fit themselves delicately into the bruise that’s circled around his spine, press. “Didn’t get enough last night, did ya, sweetheart.” 

Yondu lets his head tip back onto the man’s chest, feels a shudder-trace of chills down his spine. 

“Gonna keep talking, or are ya gonna fuck me?” he rasps out through a smoke roughened throat as he lets the huffer-stick drop to the ground. 

The man hisses a laugh and then his hand are pressing possessive on Yondu’s hips. 

“All but begging for it already, ain’t’cha?” he holds their hips tight together, sways them slow like dirty dancing, mouths the points of his teeth against Yondu’s jugular. “Greedy little _slut_.” 

Yondu’s head fall forward and he whimpers weak and animal before he can stop himself. 

“I gotta room,” the man tugs at the lobe of his ear, worries it a little before letting it go to breath words against his scalp hot and heady, “You come with me, I’ll eat you out slow and sloppy, tie you down and mark you up until you’re fucked clean outta your pretty mind.” 

When the man talks like that, dips a thumb inside his pants to rub slow and rough across the sweat-damp jut of his hip, Yondu wants to do anything he says. 

“Tell me what to call you,” he whispers as he softens, lets the man take his weight. His’s head’s already floating, almost high on how much he needs this. 

“Stakar.” 

Then he’s being pushed away, and a hand is wrapping like a cuff around his wrist, pulling him down the street.

 

The hotel is one of those sagging, yellowed ones where the desks clerks know you’re either there to be fucked or murdered and since there’s mess either way they don’t particularly mind which. Yondu doesn’t care. It’s got a bed, and walls, and that’s enough for him. 

They’re barely inside before the man is swinging him forward by wrist, lets him go as Yondu takes a surprised stumble forward. A palm rests right between his shoulder blades, and then it’s forcing him down on the bed, face colliding painfully with the hard mattress as he’s bent neatly forward at the waist. Stakar’s hard, muscled body settles over him, his legs kicked further apart so Yondu’s weight jams his face further into the wool-scratch sheets.

There’s a clock ticking somewhere, tinny and offbeat with the measured rolls of Stakar’s dick into his ass. The only other sounds are the rough panting exhales of Stakar’s breath, and the _shhh_ of cloth against cloth. 

Strands of steel grey hair are tickling at the edges of his implant, teasing along his neck. Yondu’s always been sensitive there, even more so after they cut his tahlei away and he grinds his teeth, arches his hips into Stakar’s. 

“Sweet thing,” Stakar mumbles against his skin, nips tiny blue-black bruises just under Yondu’s jaw, “Couldn’t get you out of my head today, kept thinking how good you’d felt speared open on my cock and sobbing for it.” 

His hands feel huge against Yondu’s sides as they hook into his belt loops, slide his pants down. Stakar ruts into him again, once, twice, leather rough against Yondu’s bare skin, before stilling and pulling away. There’s the sound of buckles clinking, straps sliding through hook and clothes thumping soft onto the bare hotel floor. Then roped muscles and planes of hot skin are pressed flush against the sensitive undersides of his legs, his back. 

Stakar’s cock slides against him, all the little barbs of him rasping rough and teasing. 

“Can’t wait t’get my dick in you again,” Stakar’s lining himself up, rubbing the tip against Yondu’s hole as he arches harder to get it inside, “make you come on it, fuck you through it and then when you think you can’t take any more I’m gonna fuck you here too,” and he’s twisting the dry tip of a finger against Yondu’s asshole. 

No one’s ever fucked him there, the kind of quick and dirty bar stands Yondu normally picks up preferring the hole that’s already wet for them. The thought punches in at his gut and he sucks a lungful of air through dry lips. 

“Yeah, you like that?” And then Stakar’s pushing forward, the thick, heavy girth of him stretching Yondu wide in the best kind of ways and his hands splay open and his eyes squeeze shut. 

It’s just as perfect as the first time, except here Yondu can let himself drown in it, let all the needing noises click and scrape desperate outta his throat. Once Stakar's seated he pauses, shifting minute inside him until Yondu clenches, tries to coax him into moving. 

When Stakar does nothing but make shushing noises, smooth along his arms, petting him Yondu flails an arm back to claw needily at his skin.

"Oh no ya don't," Stakar huffs, hauls himself up enough that he can grab a wrist in each broad hand, stretches them up firmly over Yondu's head. “Gonna let me do what I what, darling, you’re just gonna take it.” 

There's the sound of Stakar rooting around the blankets and then a band of cloth is being looped expertly around his wrists, through the slats of the headboard. Yondu's mouth falls open in a soundless gasp as he flexes against the bonds, and Stakar's digging hands into his waist, yanking him down the bed until his arms are stretched out painfully straight.

Stakar rolls his hips, stopping every few thrusts to leisurely grind into Yondu's sweet spot,fucking Yondu like he has all the time in the world. It's the best kind of torture and Yondu jerks and writhes against the weight of Stakar's body, reveling in the bite of the binds on his wrist. 

“Like feeling me scrape you up all sweet and slow again, still all sore from last time?” Stakar's voice is a vicious croon, "c'mon, tell me," and Yondu's shaking his head, twisting it sideways against the bed, opens his mouth and then Stakar pulls out all the way and stabs back in. 

Yondu's teeth snap shut painfully and he hisses, weakly tries to glare up at the man on his back who only smirks, jams an arm under Yondu's hips to hike him up higher. His fingers grope at where their bodies meet and Yondu moans, warbling higher as Stakar starts to rub gently at his clit. 

"Gonna come for me, pretty boy?" Stakar's finally, _finally_ moving faster now, and it's perfect, the drag of the nubs against his sweet spot exactly what Yondu needs and his muscles are twisting up, and his back is arcing hard as he clenches and twists on Stakar's cock. “Yeah, that’s it.”

He's begging now, begging shamelessly as Stakar keeps up that perfect steady thrust until he’s coming. It rushes through him sweet and heady and shivering, makes him shove his face sour scented sheets.

“First one,” Stakar says as he slides out slow, rough inch by rough inch dragging against Yondu’s oversensitive insides. Yondu’s arms are starting to ache from being held still, but before he can say anything about it, Stakar’s sliding down his body, pushing his thighs apart.

“The fu–“ Yondu twists his head down, face scrunched in confusion but Stakar only grins at him and says, “What, don’t you remember what I said, boy?”

Then he’s burying his head between Yondu’s legs, breathes on him hot, starts gently mouthing at his slit. Stakar eats him out like he has all the time in the world to do this, to take Yondu apart. 

He breaks away to bite hard and sucking into the meat of Yondu’s thigh. It’s deep, that bite, and Yondu knows tomorrow, he won’t be able to walk without thinking of him every times his thighs brush. That thought is dizzying and Yondu arches harder against Stakar’s mouth when he gives him a matching one on the other side. The air tingles cool against the wet, throbbing marks, and Yondu shivers. 

Then Stakar’s ducking down again to seal his mouth over Yondu’s clit and suck, as Yondu whines, toes flexing helplessly. There’s the vibration of Stakar chuckling against him, as he’s dragging a finger through the dripping slick before sliding it higher, slow and teasing as Yondu writhes. 

“Sweet little hole, never been fucked has it?” Stakar pulls away to mouth the words against one of his marks as Yondu arches harder, tries to get Stakar’s mouth back where he needs it. “Don’t worry, darling, gonna take that cherry, fuck you ‘til you you can’t breathe for needing it.”

Stakar pushes another slick finger against him, pumps them in and out until Yondu starts to loosen for him. He goes back to flicking at Yondu’s clit, steady motion that winds Yondu higher and higher.

The fingers fucking him full, Stakar’s tongue against him, it’s too much and Yondu all but wails as the motion makes him peak, weaker and longer than before. 

His eyes are heavy, mind aching tired and fucked out. He’s never come twice that close together and it sparks erratic along his nerves, fizzing euphoric. But Stakar doesn’t pull away, he’s eeling up again until he’s resting heavy on Yondu’s back, covering him and pressing him down into the sheets. 

“Wa–“ Yondu slurs out, before his eyes are startling open and fingers clenching against at the rough, wet feel of Stakar’s dick against his ass. Stakar rubs it against his hole, teasing as Yondu starts squirming in tiny, exhausted movements and then Stakar’s pressing forward slowly, inexorably. 

It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s everything he ever wanted, this drowning in the body above him. 

“Yeah, wanted you like this since I saw you on that street corner, looking like nothing could touch you,” Stakar’s keeps fucking him, even as Yondu twitches against the sparking signals in his head, telling him it’s pleasure and pain all at once. “Wanted to strip you down, dirty you up with your own sweat and come, mark you up and fuck you until you couldn’t move.” 

Yondu’s choking out exhausted little sobs with every exhale. Stakar’s speeding up now, moving him on the bed and he drops to one elbow with a groan, leans his other forearm across Yondu’s shoulders. 

“Think you can come one more time for me darlin, how ‘bout it?” his voices drips greedy into Yondu’s ear, but Yondu’s manages to force out a “N–n,” before Stakar’s arm is leaning on him heavy as he says, “think you can.” 

It’s relentless, the hammering rhythm getting faster, jabbing hard into his soft guts and it hurts so good and he’s gasping in air, black spots dancing in his vision as he struggles to breath through the weight on his back. 

Something sweet and heady is singing through his veins, bringing him with it and then he’s coming, low and long and tormenting as he lets himself fall into black.

 

When Yondu wakes up, his head throbs in slow counterpoint to his breathing. The bite mark on the back of his neck is aching like a broken heart, and Stakar’s hand cradles the back of his neck just beneath it. 

“Go back to sleep, sweet boy,” Stakar pulls him a little tighter, “I don’t have anywhere to be until morning.”

 

Stakar doesn’t make any promises before he leaves, and Yondu doesn’t ask for them. 

“The hotel’s yours until you leave, they have my unit chip on file,” Stakar looks down at him like there’s something more caught just behind his teeth, but he only reaches down to cup a calloused palm to his face, thumb once across his cheekbone, pull away. 

The door creaks shut behind him. Yondu stares at the spiderwebbed cracks in the ceiling, and thinks of nothing at all. 


	3. wanted to take him home and rough him up and get my hands inside him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s cold, bitter cold, and Yondu pulls his jacket closer around him. The synthwool of his undershirt had been tenable against the elements before its fibers had been worn to hell and back, but now it’s little better than nothing. 
> 
> The wind spits ice shard against his bare scalp. Fuck this planet. Fuck the candy-crusted mirrorpane pull of of it, and every last fire-eyed son of a bitch in it, every rope-muscled, gravel voiced, callous-thumb dragging across bones– 
> 
> Yondu flips his collar up, ignores the drag of leather against the bite on his neck. The low moan of the ship horn sounds. It’s time to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so have more of this. same warnings as previous, with added warning for talk of somnophilia. idek what's happening with this fic anymore it's doing it's own thing now...

It’s cold, bitter cold, and Yondu pulls his jacket closer around him. The synthwool of his undershirt had been tenable against the elements before its fibers had been worn to hell and back, but now it’s little better than nothing. 

The wind spits ice shard against his bare scalp. Fuck this planet. Fuck the candy-crusted mirrorpanepullof of it, and every last fire-eyed son of a bitch in it, every rope-muscled, gravel voiced, callous-thumb dragging across bones– 

Yondu flips his collar up, ignores the drag of leather against the bite on his neck. The low moan of the ship horn sounds. It’s time to go. 

 

The spray of gravel dust Yondu kicks up at the ship lumbering away may not do much, but it’s bitterly satisfying. Fuck that spacer’s dick with a rusted wire till the damn thing rots from the inside out. 

“What’d that poor bastard ever do t’you?” 

Yondu startles, turns with fingers already flipping the edge of his coat open before he recognizes the voice. Must have said that out loud. Stakar grins back at him from the edge of the next dock, arcs still glowing gently on his shoulder and a battered duffle at his feet. 

“Scammed me outta a ticket’s what,” Yondu squints up at him, crosses his arms, “Paid him a good amount of units plus a little something t’sweeten the deal too.” 

He digs his toe mutinously in to the dust. “Bastard.” 

When he looks back up Stakar’s got his head cocked consideringly, staring at him with eyes that seem to slice through the spaces between his bones. Yondu hutches his shoulders a little more, starts to turn away but then–

“Come with me.” 

It’s not a question, not a demand, something in between. A calloused hand is offered, palm up.

Yondu doesn’t ask to where. After all, every planet in the universe is six of this, half dozen of the other and anywhere he’s left, there will always be alcohol and lonely men.

“Gets cold up there, traveling deep space alone.”

If he wanted to, Stakar could’ve offed him last night. Yondu’s neck throbs. He squeezes his thighs until the bites on them sting.

Stakar’s hand drops, fingers curling and voice roughing low.

“So, boy?”

And there isn’t any other choice, not really, so Yondu says,“Why not,” and reaches out to take his hand. 

 

Stakar’s M-ship is simple, frosted steel struts and chrome plated dash. The view screen takes up half the control deck, curving soft like a flesh stretched over a skull. 

“You can throw your things downstairs,” Stakar’s punching in the start-up sequence, flicking lightening fast through flashing buttons and the scroll of letters. 

“Naw,” Yondu lets his bag drop onto one of the side benches, “’ll stay here for now.” 

Stakar rolls his eyes, says fondly, “Brat.”

 

Yondu ends up falling asleep there, on the bench against the wall, watching Stakar pilot easy like breathing. 

He wakes up to that calloused thumb brushing his cheek again, Stakar standing wide over him, a dark crooked grin curling on his face.As Yondu’s eyes start to flutter blearily open the thumb slides down to his lips. It presses in, hooks on his lower lip, pulls it down. 

“Lovely cocksucker lips you got there, darling,” Stakar lets got to trace the edges of his mouth slowly, roughly, “gives a man ideas.” 

Something sharp and thrilling shoots up Yondu’s spine. He turns his head enough he can drowsily seal his lips around Stakar’s thumb, make sucking pulls at it.

“But you like that, don’t you,” Stakar adds another finger and fucks Yondu’s mouth with them. “Bet you’d like me t’hold that slutty little mouth open, feed my cock down your throat.” 

And Yondu does, he _wants_ it, so he whines around his mouthful of fingers, sucks harder. 

“Needy thing,” Stakar eyes are hooding, and the hand that’s not in Yondu is loosening the buckles of his trousers, pulling himself out. “Can’t go a day without someonet’fuck you full.” 

Then he’s pulling his fingers out of Yondu, pinching his chin tight and holding his mouth open so he can guide his cock in. It’s rough, all the barbs of it dragging against his sensitive palateYondu’s almost gagging on it. 

“That’s it, shhhhh,” Stakar cups his scalp, digs a thumb in under his ear, “take it all for me.” 

And Yondu does, tips his head back, lets Stakar fill him up and fuck him full. It winds heavy and sweet into his bones as he lets it take him high.

“Saw you sleeping there, that face looking all innocent,” Stakar holds Yondu’s head steady as he ruts forward, “though about what you look like waking up with my cock already fucking you full, how those eyes of yours would go all wet and startled, how you’d clench down so sweet on me.” 

Yondu moan loud around the cock in his mouth, brings his hands up to cling them on Stakar’s shirt.

“Like that, darling?” Stakar’s voice is like honey-coated charcoal, and the hand on the back of Yondu’s scalp is pressing firmer now, “Gonna fall asleep in my bed, let me wake you up like that?” 

Yondu nods, pushes down until he’s swallowing Stakar to the root and hums, grinning when Stakar curses and digs hard, blunt nails into the sensitive skin by his implant. 

All Stakar’s muscles are winching tight, and Yondu lets go of his shirt to slide his hands under and up to his ribs, digs his own nails in and scratch down. He hums again, and Stakar’s pushing him down on his cock, holding him there until he comes down his throat. 

 

Yondu watches, eyes heavy, as Stakar buckles himself back up. He’s drooping where he’s still propped against the wall so Stakar pulls him up, leads him down into the ship. It’s half carpeted by some plush, patterned, rose-red rug and every surface is piled with strange, colorful knickknacks and what looks like weaponry.

Stakar peels his clothes off him, dresses Yondu in one of his shirt. The sleeves won’t stay up when Yondu pushes them up, the butter-soft silk of it too half covering his hands. 

“I’ll be down in a few hours,” Stakar cups his face in both broad hands, kisses him soft and lingering. “Don’t wait up.” 

Yondu rolls his eyes, flops down on the bed and ignores him as he leaves.

The bed is ridiculously plush, piled with furs and pillows. Curling under them, Yondu runs his tongue against his teeth, pressing harder as he tastes Stakar. The stars glitter from where they’re caught in the porthole glass, cold and more distant than they seem. He shivers, drifts uneasy into sleep.


	4. so we're helpless in sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s someone inside him.
> 
> Yondu’s warm, so warm, his whole body sinking heavy into the pillowy velvet beneath him, and there’s someone inside him. Even as exhaustion pulls him taffy-like back into darkness, the world starts breaking through in pinpoints of fuzzed sensation. Sweat-damp silk bunched on his shoulderblades, the faint purr of the starboard engines, the simmering hum of arousal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so same warning as previous chapters plus new ones for unsafe somnophilia - everyone's enthusiastically onboard but Stakar got Yondu's permission mid-blowjob last chapter with no other confirmation which is a terrible, terrible idea in real life so please don't read if it's not gonna be good for ya.

There’s someone inside him.

Yondu’s warm, so warm, his whole body sinking heavy into the pillowy velvet beneath him, and there’s someone inside him. Even as exhaustion pulls him taffy-like back into darkness, the world starts breaking through in pinpoints of fuzzed sensation. Sweat-damp silk bunched on his shoulder blades, the faint purr of the starboard engines, the simmering hum of arousal.

He shifts, sucks in a breath through his teeth at the drag of cock against his insides. The weight on his back presses him deeper into the bed, until he can barely move. The coverlet smells like spices, sharp and hot and sweet at the back of his nose and he whimpers, buries his face in it. 

“That’s it, wake up beautiful.”

Yondu stiffens at the prickle greed voice breathing harsh on his ear, lets out a startled little moan as Stakar sinks in deeper. 

“C’mon, open those pretty red eyes for me,” Stakar grinds forward, just enough to drag the spines of him against all the sparking nerves, teasing them awake. “Uhh, that’s it, good boy.”

Yondu’s head spins as everything flushes hard over him and it’s almost too much, the drug-heavy rush of need as he’s splayed open with Stakar between his thighs.

“Knew you’d be so perfect like this,” Stakar rolls his hips, tiny teasing jabs. “Came back to you sprawled all sweet and sleep-soft on my bed, couldn’t wait to get myself inside you.”

His hair scratches, where it rubs against the small of Yondu’s back with every slow thrust. 

“Let me put you t’bed in my shirt, nothing under it,” Stakar runs his mouth down the shell of Yondu’s ear, drags the lobe between his teeth, “wanna know what I did, when I saw you?”

Yondu arches into him, fingers flexing wide, but Stakar just chuckles. 

“I pushed your shirt up, but you already had your legs all spread for me, little tease,” he nips at the sensitive point of Yondu’s jaw, again a little lower, bites harder and worries in a blue-black bruise. 

“Got such a pretty cunt, sweetheart, took my time playing with it, teasing it open,” Stakar lets go of his skin to breath hot and sour against Yondu’s ear as he starts fucking in faster. “Went so slow, tracing around your hole, sinking just the tip of my thumb into it as you shivered and got all wet for me.” 

Yondu shifts his legs a little wider, turns his head to rasp out, “Bet you loved that, huh, ya perv.” 

Stakar chuckles dark.

“Loved watching your body beg for it,” he shifts, pulls almost all the way out, “you know you make the sweetest little sounds when I do _this_?” and Stakar fucks in deep, hard, right against something that makes Yondu whine and twitch.

“Yeah, that’s it, can’t help it, can you?” Stakar croons smug, and Yondu flails a hand back to sulkily scratch jagged nails up his side. He only has a moment to feel vindicated though before Stakar grabs his hand, weaves their fingers together and pins it firmly beside his head. “Kept doing it until you were soaked and squirming, still asleep but getting all desperate for it, needing me t’give you more.”

Stakar keeps up that slow, teasing pace and it’s not enough, not _enough_. He writhes, keening into the sheets.

“You need me to give you more now, darling?” Stakar stills completely, even as Yondu twists under him in frustration. “Say it.” 

Yondu bites his lip stubbornly. Stakar takes the edge of his lobe piercing, tugs sharp at it before trailing his lips up the edge of Yondu’s ear to suck at the pointed tip. 

“C’mon, sweet thing, say it,” his teeth fit over Yondu’s nape, drags the skin between them as he pulls free. “Ask me to fuck you like you need.”

He punctuates it with a grind, dragging those stiff little barbs against where everything is tender and oversensitive and Yondu can’t hold it back anymore, sobs out, “Need it, c’mon _fuck_ me.”

“Good boy,” Stakar hisses and then he does. He fucks hard into Yondu, jabbing right into his sweet spot over and over, shoving him to rub against the coverlet. Yondu screws his fingers into the sheets, and it feels like he's been teetering here on the edge forever and he's finally,  _finally_  coming around Stakar, shuddering weakly through it. Stakar doesn’t stop though, keeps fucking him through it as Yondu whimpers and twitches, until finally he shoves himself in once, twice, stills.

They stay like that for a moment, Stakar panting harsh against Yondu’s ear, the comforting throb of Stakar inside him. 

Then Stakar rolls off him, flops onto his back. Yondu makes a face into the coverlet, shoves it down with his feet as the wet spot starts to turn cold. The chill of the vent brushes harsh across his skin, raising it all in gooseflesh. He shivers, and shivers, and shivers and he can’t make himself stop. The blanket is right there, he could tuck it around him if he could just make himself move. His muscles go stiff though, like they’re locked, something ugly and alone twisting and knotting in his stomach.

Fuck. Not this. Yondu sucks in a breath, holds it, makes himself blow it out smooth. He’s just overreacting, isn’t fully awake yet, is all. 

The bed dips, and there’s the rattle of Stakar fumbling for something, the click-snap of a lighter. 

“You want one?” Stakar’s voice is nothing but mellow content. Yondu squeezes his eyes shut, tries to slow his breathing. He hiccups out an choking little gasp before he can force it down. The bed dips again as Stakar leans closer, says, “What the… _shit_.” 

There’s a hiss of the huffer-stick going out and then a strong body curls around Yondu, a heavy rope-muscled arm draping across his belly. Stakar tucks his legs against the back of Yondu’s, shoves one knee between Yondu’s. He’s hot like engine exhaust, sweat matting the coarse hair that blankets his skin and clings to all Yondu’s microscopic scaling. 

Yondu’s pressed tight to the body behind him, steady and inexorable. He hates how good it feels, how every tight muscle in him goes limp and loose 

“That’s it,” Stakar rumbles, thumbs soothing along the edge of his ribs. “There you go, I gotcha.” 

Yondu should snipe back at him for that, grumble and shove Stakar off him to go find a place to piss. He doesn’t. Stakar’s hand strokes up his chest, rests heavy just at the base of his throat,Yondu keeps his eyes squeezed shut, presses back into him as Stakar says again softer, “I gotcha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...aaaaand subdrop is the worst and aftercare is important. whenever i get around to writing the next bit there's gonna be Aleta and maybe fisting we'll see how it goes


	5. swallowing mud, swallowing glass, the smell of blood on the first four knuckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Looks what followed you into space.”  
> The woman leans against the door of the bridge, arms folded. The strip of olive cloth banded across her forehead doesn’t stop a rebellious spray of black hair flopping over and into her face. She shoves it back, saunters closer.

“Looks what followed you into space.”

The woman leans against the door of the bridge, arms folded. The strip of olive cloth banded across her forehead doesn’t stop a rebellious spray of black hair flopping over and into her face. She shoves it back, saunters closer.

Stakar breathes, “‘Leta,” hand blanching white around the armrests and pushes himself half out of his chair. He pulls free of Yondu’s mouth, hesitates, sinks back down.

Between his legs Yondu twists to squint up at the intruder, licks a milky bead of pre-come from his lips.

“I didn’t hear your signal incoming,” Stakar says blankly, and he hasn't taken his eyes off her.

“Ha,” Aleta laughs scratches from her throat like sandpaper on glass. “like I haven’t been able to hack your systems before you even figured out which button auto-maps coordinates.”

One corner of his mouth pulls up and then Stakar shakes himself, hands fumbling down to tuck himself away.

“Oh, please,” Aleta waves her hand, something snapping dark in her eyes. “Don’t stop on my account.”

And that's...

Yondu shifts weight from aching knee to aching knee. That hadn’t been exactly what he’d been expecting Stakar’s… whoever this is to say.

Stakar’s eyes narrow, and his head tilts. Aleta stares unabashedly right back, eyebrow raised. The silence stretch taunt and static between them.

Then he jerks his head in a nod.Pushing himself to his feet, he gestures between them.

"Aleta, Yondu. Yondu, Aleta, my wife." 

His wife. Really. Seems awfully calm for a woman who walked in on her husband's cock down some stranger's throat. Stakar takes in the skeptical purse of Yondu's mouth, quirks a lip up. 

"It's complicated," he reaches to thumb gently across Yondu's mouth, flips his hand to offer his palm.

“What’dya think, sweet thing? Wanna keep going...?” Stakar tilts his head toward the lower deck, and Aleta grins, folds her arms.

Pulling himself to his feet, Yondu purses his lip, chews on the corner. He'd expected that even less. He worries at his lip, tilts his head to stare back at Aleta, meet the challenge in her eyes. It’s been a long while, since he’s been with a woman.

Men are easy, after all, to pick up from the kind of disreputable dive bars Yondu frequents. The kind that won’t ask too many questions as the dig their teeth into his skin, fuck him till he screams.

Aleta’s gaze hones in on him and she bares her teeth in a grin that makes every inch of his skin ripple.

“Seen you can take a cock. You even eaten a cunt out, boy?”

Yondu purses his lips, stare right back. Course he has.

“Lady, you talkin' so sweet, might have to learn just for you.”

Aleta slouches, legs spread with all the arrogance of someone who knows she's the most dangerous person in the room.

“You’re sarcastic little shit,” she drawls, “ I like that. Think I want that smart mouth on me. Gonna fuck your face.”

Yondu ignores the flicker of heat that sparks at that, stares narrowly at her. Aleta raises an eyebrow and slouches a little more pointedly.

Well. It won’t be boring.

 

 

Aleta sprawls herself over the rumpled furs at the head of the bed. She had her jacket off by the time they got to the bedroom doorway, pants and boots swiftly following. She’s unashamed in her nakedness, plants her feet on the bed and crooks a finger.

“Get over here.”

Yondu folds his arms, even as he toes his boots off. He doesn’t know this woman from an Aakon, ordering him around.Stakar nudges up behind his back, brackets him.

“C’mon, wanna watch you,” he croons, greed dripping in his voice. “Wanna watch get your mouth on her, sweetheart.”

Stakar's words shudder through Yondu, and he can see it, can see her hand pressing against his scalp. Can see her demanding more, keeping him buried in her until she’s satisfied and that’s…

He slinks across the bed on his hands and knees, back arched, lets his muscles bunch and ripple. When he’s between her thighs, he grins up at her dirty.

"Now you got me here, what'cha gonna do?"

“Gonna give that mouth something better t’do than sass. Start slow,” Aleta drags a thumb across his lips, “Tease me.”

It’s almost like he remembers, and nothing like sucking cock. She tastes like sweat and grim and cunt, wild curls of hair catching against the chapped flakes of his lips. He dips to drag the flat of his tongue up her, but jerks forward when he feels thick fingers prodding at his hole, tilting his hips up.

“That’s it, open him up,” Aleta cups Yondu’s scalp, tugging him up until his tongue nudges her clit. “I wanna watch him ride you.”

Stakar’s fingers slide in deep, hook to pull him open and _fuck_. Yondu moans, spine going liquid.

“No,” Aleta rubs herself up onto his face, “Didn’t tell you to stop, keep going.”

Yondu groans against her, traces around her hole, over her hood. He needs something more inside him, and he arches harder, spreads his knees. 

"Give him another finger," Aleta presses her hips up harder, as Yondu traces back down to fuck his tongue inside her. "Get him wet."

"Don't need to," Stakar groans, rubs the sweat from his forehead across the dip of Yondu's back.He adds a third finger, thumb rubbing gentle circles around his clit. "He's dripping. Think he's getting off on eating you out."

"That right?" she drags her thumb along the sensitive edge of Yondu’s implant, digging her nail in and he shivers, eyes screwing shut 

"That's it, boy. Stop teasing." 

Her slick smears across his face, and she’s swollen, soft, except the hard little nubbin that makes her jerk when he prods his tongue at it.

“Yeah, flick your tongue like that, right there,” Aleta rasps, voice straining higher, both hands holding him down now. She claws stinging stripes into his scalp, pulses up, all her whip-cord muscles locking. Yondu doesn't stop, flicks steady until his tongue aches, until she shudders hard, legs clamping tight and she pulses against his tongue, goes wetter.

Yondu slows, lets his tongue rest flat on her through the aftershocks until she pushes him away. 

Aleta’s chest heaves, sweat beading along the dip of her breasts. His head pillows against her thigh as she inhales slow and pleased, relaxes down into the pillows. Guess it’s like riding electribike, you never really forget.

As her breathing evens, Aleta turns to smirk wickedly at Stakar. 

“I like this one,” she says. “Wanna see you fuck him first, then you can put your fist in me.” 

“‘Leta…” Stakar’s hands flex, and he reaches down to squeeze at the base of his cock. 

“C’mon, get your dick in him,” she pokes a finger at him, “not gonna put it in me.”

Yondu’s pulled up and into Stakar’s lap, back against his chest. He opens easy, soaked as he is, sinking deep.

“Good. Like that. Fuck him like that.” Aleta’s eyes drag along Yondu’s skin, the clench of Stakar’s hands on his waist.

And Yondu may be all scarred-up scowls, huffer-spice stink and grime, but he knows how to put on a show. He arches, lets his head go limp against Stakaras rolls his hips, rides him. His arms curve back, nails biting into skin as he moans.

“He feel good, flyboy? That tight little cunt feel good?”

Aleta purrs, greed dripping from her voice like oil.

“Just your type, isn’t he? All young and desperate, needy little slut for you.”

Stakar groans, grabs Yondu’s hips and jerks him down harder.

“Thas’ it. Make him come.” Every word from Aleta’s lips hits Stakar like a dart, and he reaches down to thumb clumsy at Yondu’s clit and _shit_. All the nights, learning his body, mean Stakar knows just how to touch him. 

It only take a minute before Yondu clenches, comes trembling, Stakar’s fingers working him as he grinds himself deep. But Stakar doesn't stop then, keeps ramming up into him, and it's too much, too _much._ Yondu whines, writhes away weakly.

“Hey,” Aleta snaps. And just like that, Stakar exhales, freezes. His chest is heaving, his hips making minute judders but he stops, pulls himself free.

Light sparks, pop in front of his eyes, aftershocks still shivering across his skin as Yondu tips over, curls on his side. 

The sheets are butter soft against hisoversensitive skin and he burrows deeper, fumbles behind and pulls a fur half over himself. He breathes, closes his eyes, lets it wash over him and he doesn’t think, mind fuzzing white into static.

When he opens them again, Stakar and Aleta… well.

They’ve forgotten about Yondu. They eyes are locked on each other, desperate and inevitable as two stars caught in a death spiral, on countdown to detonation.

Stakar curls around her hip, his head on her stomach as he slowly works her open. She weaves her fingers through his hair, twisting steel-grey strands tight around her fingers, scratching nails against his scalp.

“That’s it, give me more.”

The way he stares up at her, there’s something almost broken in his eyes. Like if she asked his soul he would reach down his throat to rip it out, slick and gossamer, lift it to her lips still dripping.

He’s got four thick fingers twisting inside her now, working her open. Aleta grips the slick she’s grabbed from somewhere, flicks the cap open and tips it out. It drizzles, slow and thick,over where they’re joined, spilling between them. Stakar pulls his hand out, works it through his fingers, and sets them back against her.

“‘Leta.”

His voice cracks in supplication and he waits. The breath hovers between them, stretched taunt like light into black holes.

She tilts her hips, curls her lip up until a jagged tooth glints through.

“Do it.”

His hand sinks in, slowly, lube squelching up around the edges as his fingers disappear, then his knuckles. They shine slick in the light, more dripping down onto the bedsheets and Aleta’s head drops back, back arching. She snarls between clenched teeth, and Stakar freezes, waits until she relaxes to slip deeper. Then he’s in, up to his wrist.

“‘ _Leta_.”

Stakar roughs out her name like it’s the only word left he knows, buries his face in her belly. It's almost beautiful, how they're caught and hooked together like the wings of a bipolar nebula.

Aleta undulate, slowly, circling down onto his hand.

“Ohh, fuck,” she hisses, “Thas’ it, flyboy. Gonna come on your fist.”

She slides a hand down to rub at her clit, rolls her hips faster. With her other hand she grabs his wrist, pushes him deep and holds him there. Fucked out little grunts escape between her teeth, muscles tightening until she comes, clenching tight on the fist inside her.

“Gorgeous,” Stakar says, broken and raw, noses into her hip. He waits until her muscles start to soften to ease his hand out, slowly, carefully. “Fuck. ‘Leta, need t’come. _Please._ ”

“Yeah. Then do it. ”

Aleta stretches languidly, reaches up and smacks her lips. Stakar moans, pushes his way between her legs until he can rub against her stomach. He buries his face in her neck, trembling as he ruts erratic against her skin.

She purrs at him, wraps her legs around his waist.

“Thas’ it, Stakar,” she croons sleepy, “come for me.”

He wails, muffled into her throat, and obeys.

 

 

They sleep like that, three of them. Limbs woven like tangled wire, split off in frayed ends.

When Yondu wakes, Aleta’s zipping up her jacket, working her feet back into her boots. Stakar slumps on the edge of the bed, hands flexing against his knees.

Aleta clicks her last buckle closed, cocks her head at him.

“You know I can’t stay.”

It’s not kind, her voice, dry and rough and immutable as desert winds. She rests the back of her hand on his temple, gently caresses down his face. “Go find some planet. Rob someone blind. Come back and fuck your little boy toy when he’s dressed up in your spoils.”

She trails her hand down his neck, flips to palm his throat and squeeze. “That always makes you feel better.”

Stakar flinches, face crumpling like she’s shoved thorns under his tongue. His hands hang limply at his sides. He doesn’t even try to reach for her.

Aleta pulls herself away, turns to smirk at Yondu and fuck that, honestly. Yondu doesn't belong to them and he sure as hell isn't anyone's little boy toy. He pokes his tongue out at her, scowls. It makes her snort, and then she pivots, scooping her hair off her face and securing it back with her ragged band of cloth as she strides out the room. 

It’s only a minute before metal walls thrums with the echo, reverberating hollow through the room as her ship revs, detaches. It fades to nothing, leaves only the sound of air catching jagged in Stakar’s throat, the rasp of silk as Yondu shifts. Leaves only the hollow space between them.


	6. I couldn’t get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Got a light?”  
> Stakar slouches at the window, stares at the rain. It drizzles steady, beading delicate as it clings to glass. The huffer stick dangles apathetically between his fingers, slim charcoal flecked bone-white paper.  
> Yondu pushes himself up on his hands, back arching cat-like as he stretches. The bed sinks beneath him, all feather down and Sibirian silk. That’s something to be said about Stakar, he doesn’t skimp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is it folks! please heed the new warnings, this wasn't written in a happy place.

“Got a light?”

Stakar slouches at the window, stares at the rain. It drizzles steady, beading delicate as it clings to glass. The huffer stick dangles apathetically between his fingers, slim charcoal flecked bone-white paper.

Yondu pushes himself up on his hands, back arching cat-like as he stretches. The bed sinks beneath him, all feather down and Sibirian silk. That’s something to be said about Stakar, he doesn’t skimp.

“Don’t,” Yondu’s lips twist. Where the hell did Stakar put the brandy? He slides his legs over the edge of the bed, folds over them to grope under the bedside table.

“C’mere,” Stakar stares at Yondu over his shoulder. “Think I got one in my back pocket.”

Yondu smiles a little, private. Straightens up, slinks to stand behind Stakar.

“What, couldn’t reach around and see for yourself?” Yondu hooks his hands in Stakar’s belt, his head on his shoulder. The rain patters dreamy against stone as their bodies curve together.

Stakar hums, absently.

“You know it never rains, on Arcturus.”

He’s distant, drifting wistful somewhere Yondu’s never been. He rests his face against Stakar, presses his face into all the bunch and shift of cloth-covered muscles. Their jackets are already thrown carelessly over the one hotel chair, only thin cotton between them.

Stakar hadn’t told Yondu, why he chosen to come planetside. It isn’t hard to guess.

“Aleta loves the rain.”

Shit. No. Down that way lies danger, so Yondu slides his hands around, teases at the edge of Stakar’s cock. His feet shift wider so his hips can roll forward, tease and grind up and–

There. Stakar stiffens, gropes for Yondu’s arm.

“Little slut,” he jerks Yondu in front of him, pins him against the glass with his thick-muscled frame, “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

Yes. That’s better. He arches against the glass, drops his head back.

“That’s it, don’t even have to talk to beg me for it,” Stakar croons, slides a hand up his chest, around to his nape, squeezes it firm between calloused fingers. “Always so greedy.”

His eyes burn, and he flips Yondu around to face the window, hooks him close.

Yondu digs his fingers into slick glass, watches them slip helplessly down.

Stakar’s hardening against his ass, juddering into him, hand sliding over his throat. He presses down, choking, until Yondu goes limp.

“So greedy,” Stakar growls in his ear, “Fine. Gonna give you what you’re begging for. Gonna give it to you until you _scream_.”

His hand closes tighter, and Yondu can’t breathe. A hand shoves into his sleep pants, and Yondu can’t breathe. Stakar palms rough across his mound, works a finger between his thigh to press at his hole. Yondu’s so light he could float away, only Stakar’s keeping him grounded, it’s perfect, so good, and Yondu can’t breathe, he can’t _breathe_ –

 

“Fuck.”

Stakar’s voice splinters dimly through the haze, and then, air. Yondu gulps at it, pulse throbbing giddy in his throat. There’s an arm around his waist, another around his chest, he can feel them every time he fills his lungs. 

“Fuck, I didn’t– that wasn’t–“

Then they're moving, Stakar half holding him up until Yondu can collapses forward onto the bed. Blood dances through his veins euphoric and he rolls drunkenly on his back, lets his legs drop open. His brain is static and white noise and need, he needs more. 

“I…” Stakar stares down at him, lines carved cragged in his forehead. He hesitates, scrubs at his face.

Why is he stopping?

“I can’t.” Stakar's shoulder's slump, and he collapses beside Yondu on the bed. He leans forward, rubs his neck between his hands.

Yondu blinks through the daze. Can’t what now? He arches up, lets out a frustrated little whine. Stakar just turns, nudges Yondu on his side, up the bed, until Stakar can fit himself behind. 

“Didn’t mean to do you like that sweetheart, wasn’t thinking.” 

“Didn’t say stop,” Yondu says blankly, because he hadn’t, had he? Stakar had let up before he passed out, and Yondu hadn’t said stop. 

“I’m saying it,” Stakar’s voice is low, unyielding. An arm settles over Yondu’s waist, kneading at his side, legs tangled between his. “Just wanna hold you.”

He grabs a handful of blanket, tugs it loosely over them.

And what, that isn’t… Yondu doesn’t understand. He squirms back, makes an unhappy little noise. But Stakar only sighs, hot and gusty, buries his nose against Yondu’s scalp.

“Need this,” Stakar mumbles against his nape. “Just need to hold you, sweetheart. Just need to be here with you.”

What. 

Stakar’s holding him close now, stroking along his skin like he _loves_ him or some kind of bullshit. Like Yondu means something more, and he has a _wife,_ he can’t want this, can’t really mean it no matter how sweet it sounds and this isn't– Yondu doesn't–

No.

 

Yondu waits until Stakar’s breath is even to ease himself out of bed. Good thing they’d only just arrived. Everything but the clothes he traveled in still nestles secure in his duffle.

It was bound to happen, eventually. 

Stakar huffs, turns in his sleep. The sheet slips down enough Yondu can see the bunch and twitch of his muscles. His sleep is restless, like it seems to be every night.

Yondu slips his boots on, reaches for his jacket, pauses. Reaches for Stakar's instead. It hangs on him but it's warm, lined with something silky soft and twice as thick as Yondu's threadbare own. Stakar's got enough units, he can pick up another. Yondu wants this one.

He shrugs it on, hesitates. He doesn’t have to leave, just yet. Could stay, just a little longer. Wait until Stakar’s business is taken care of, follow him back. String out a few more halcyon days.

His bag settles heavy as Yondu slings it over his shoulder, air whistling chilled across his face as he cracks the door.

There’s something more out there, in that hollow, endless sea of stars. Someday, Yondu’s gonna find it, take it. 

He doesn’t look back.


End file.
